Duet
by pacejunkie
Summary: AU. What if Charlie had been first to meet Rousseau? ActionAdventure


**Title:** Duet

**Rating:** PG/K+

**Summary:** Another AU "what if" scenario. What if Charlie had been the first to meet Rousseau? For charlielives challenge #2 – Strange Encounters

**Characters:** Charlie, Danielle and pretty much everybody.

**Word Count:** 5,639

**Disclaimer:** No, still not mine.

Charlie had always wanted to be a solo act. It was his brother that convinced him to join a band. But to Charlie, music had always been too personal a thing to share, almost intimate. Writing lyrics was like going to confession and composing melody like a tonic for his soul. It was never intended for others, it was therapy. If not for Liam he never would have left his bedroom with his guitar.

He wasn't outgoing like his brother. Even in the band he was known as the quiet one, the shy baby brother that lived off of social handouts and Liam's sloppy seconds. He had to learn at his brother's knee to live the rock star life. Liam gladly taught him everything he knew, from who threw the best post concert parties to how to bed two groupies at once to the best place to score drugs.

If not for Liam, Charlie would have been a solo act, and a very different person.

Heroin withdrawal is like paint stripping. Over an agonizing forty hour period, layers of identity are torn away one by one, ultimately revealing the true self underneath. Painful to touch, sensitive to the smallest of breezes, the exposure of the raw inner core feels like being flayed or burned. After two days Charlie was no longer the junkie, the rock star, the hedonist. He was a solo artist once again, reborn, but he had no idea who that was. He did know one thing though.

He was ashamed.

Everyone knew. Jack tried his best to keep his secret but there was no hiding it to anyone with a pair of eyes and an ounce of common sense. Hurley was the only one naïve enough to believe he had the flu. It took Sawyer to clue him in.

"A flu?" snorted Sawyer, "How thick can you be Hardy? The boy's a walking ad for rehab."

"Say what?" Hurley still didn't get it, so Sawyer had to spell it out for him.

"He's on _drugs_, Columbo."

Hurley was about the last one to find out. Charlie didn't wait around long enough to learn whether Claire knew. After a day in the caves he'd been stared at, avoided and tiptoed around. The only one that spoke to him besides Jack was Walt, but when the kid finally asked Charlie if it was true he was a junkie, his father quickly put a stop to the visits. Other than being a curiosity, Charlie didn't think there was any way he would ever contribute to the group again, not now. The others would be much more comfortable without him around.

Charlie was once again a solo act, as he had always wanted to be, and it was time to go figure out what that meant.

He had wanted to take his guitar with him but he didn't think it seemed right to take a material possession on a spiritual quest and besides, it was too bulky to lug through the jungle. He could always go back and get it once he got settled somewhere.

Setting out at dawn, with just a small pack of food and water, he had only the vaguest notion of what he was doing. He wanted to avoid getting killed, he knew that much, but surviving in the wilderness was another matter altogether. Maybe he'd discover some hidden talent he didn't know he had -- some primal latent instinct to fish or trap. He remembered being quite good at identifying plant species as a kid; he always had fine attention to detail. So if he was attacked by a boar he could likely describe it perfectly and draw an excellent picture of it; that is, if he had time before he bled to death. Bloody hell, he must be daft for doing this.

Convinced of his incompetence, Charlie would have gone back, if not for the fact that he was dead certain he was better off alone, and equally convinced that he wouldn't be missed.

* * *

"Hurley, have you seen Charlie around?" asked Jack.

It was late afternoon in Cave Town. Most people had already been to the beach and back and were now assembling provisions for the evening campfires. Hurley had an armful of sticks when Jack approached him.

"No, not since yesterday," Hurley said. "Maybe he went to see Claire on the beach."

Jack shook his head. "I checked the beach. I just wanted to see how he was doing…"

He trailed off, remembering the secret, but he needn't have bothered. Jack had been so busy the last few days he didn't realize that everyone already knew, even Hurley.

"Oh, you mean without his drugs?"

Jack was surprised. "How do you know about that?"

"It's cool, dude. Everyone knows, but we don't care."

Jack scanned the cave interior, the last place he hadn't checked. "It's nice that you don't care but do you think maybe Charlie cares, because I can't find him anywhere."

Sayid was close enough to overhear and quickly joined the conversation. It was a testament to how little there was to do that eavesdropping and gossip had become the social norms.

"What's this about Charlie Jack?" asked the Iraqi.

"No one's seen him all day," Jack explained. "I checked his stuff. Most of it's here but he took his pack. If he doesn't make it back before nightfall someone needs to go look for him."

Sayid knew that when Jack said _someone_ he was typically including himself, often exclusively, particularly if it involved coming to someone's rescue. He could have just left the whole matter to Jack, but Sayid was concerned for Charlie too. He recalled the confused young man he met on the beach shortly after the crash. Looking back on it, Charlie had been clearly in the throes of his drug addiction but helped Sayid build a signal fire nonetheless, then stayed by his side for the remainder of that first frightening night on the beach.

"I'll go," said Sayid. "I'm sure he hasn't gone far."

"Hold up, I'll go with you," said Hurley.

Jack nodded. "We have a few hours of daylight left so grab some water and we'll head out in five minutes."

* * *

The landscape was perfect for a bit of soul searching. Charlie remembered climbing up to a hilltop to hear the French lady's distress call shortly after the crash but he had no idea that the island was so diverse. In a few hours he had seen mountains, fields, streams and dense jungle. It was beautiful and serene.

After a good long hike he stopped by a creek and took off his shoes. Sitting on the banks he closed his eyes and for several minutes focused on the sound of the rushing water until it filled his head like white noise. Embraced by his surroundings, he meditated for several minutes more until a tune started playing in his head and he wished he'd brought a notebook. It was a feeling of pure innocence, like when he had first discovered music and the world was full of possibility; sacred, mysterious and uncorrupt. For a fleeting instant, he felt as if he could peek behind the heavy curtains and glimpse the meaning of life with all the wonder of a child taking his first steps.

He could become anything, nothing that came before mattered.

Opening his eyes, he was a bit disappointed to find himself back in the physical world. Draining his bottle and filling it back up again with the cool creek water, Charlie rose and set off to find a place to make camp for the night. He wanted to stay close to the stream for the sheer pleasure of hearing it when he slept, so he scanned the area for the nearest clearing. He found one, set his bag down and began gathering up loose sticks for a fire, whistling the tune he had just composed. He was almost done but there was a nice large piece of wood lying in a low shrub. He reached for it, lifted it up and heard something snap.

All at once his ankle was snared by a rope and he was being dragged backwards. He clawed at the earth, screamed in surprise when it disappeared beneath him and then again twice as loud when he hit the ground. He had landed on his left wrist and heard a loud crack as it broke. Lying in the crude pit, Charlie was breathless, afraid to move, inhaling dirt. The pain was spectacular, and as darkness fell he tried to meditate on it like he did with the babbling stream.

But all he managed to do was pass out.

* * *

Darkness came sooner than expected and torches were lit. Jack, Hurley and Sayid checked the surrounding areas of the caves beginning with the widest circle they could make and then working their way inwards. If there was no sign of Charlie by the time they reached the caves again, they would have to abandon the search until morning.

"Dudes, what happens if we don't find him?" asked Hurley when they returned.

"We'll find him," said Sayid. "It will be much easier in daylight. He may have sought shelter somewhere secluded."

Jack had been uncharacteristically silent the entire trek. A part of him wondered if he could have prevented this. If he had better insight, he might have expected Charlie would do something like this once the camp had learned of his secret. Jack knew Charlie was desperate to keep his addiction concealed, and so he berated himself for not keeping a closer watch on the young man he had inadvertently taken under his protective wing.

"We'll start again at sunrise," Jack declared finally. "Assuming he doesn't come back on his own tonight."

The others knew Jack wouldn't rest until they found him. Hurley saw Jack as the kind of person who always had to feel like he was in control, even when he wasn't. Although he himself didn't really know Charlie all that well yet, as evidenced by the fact that he didn't know he was using heroin, Hurley had the feeling that they had the potential at least to be pretty good friends. Maybe it was because Charlie seemed like the kind of guy that needed a friend, but the fact that despite knowing these people for less than two weeks they were willing to risk their lives to find him said a lot about Charlie. It told Hurley that Charlie was worth it, and they each knew it in their own way.

They returned to the caves and asked around to find that Charlie had still not returned. Jack didn't even have to ask. He just looked at the Sayid and Hurley and said, "First light tomorrow?"

There were nods all around.

* * *

There was something burning. Charlie didn't smell it so much as feel it.

His arm was on fire.

With his eyes closed he tried to jerk it from the flames and when he did he screamed, fully awake. There was no fire. His hands were tied above his head, attached to the metal cot frame on which he now lay. The pain from the bonds across his broken wrist was so intense that he began to plead before he even knew if there was anyone in the room.

"It hurts!" he cried, "Get it off!"

No response.

His wrist seared with a pain that ran all the way up to his shoulder like a lit fuse when he made the slightest movement. The rest of his body was freezing, no doubt from shock, but he fought to control it.

"Is anyone there?" he tried again. "Can someone help me?"

He didn't know where he was. The light was dim but there was a shadow in the corner that he could just see if he turned his head.

A female voice said, "Who are you?"

"Nobody," he said. "Just Charlie. Who are _you_?"

"What were you doing out in the jungle?" she asked, still in shadow.

"Camping?" he tried, knowing it sounded lame. "I was with a bunch of plane crash survivors. There are over forty of us."

"Liar," she accused. "You are one of _them_!"

"One of _who_?" he asked, sweat breaking out from the exertion of defending himself and trying to keep still. "Look, I'm sure we can sort this out but in the meantime would you please untie my wrist? You may have noticed that it's broken and it's bloody killing me."

"I cannot untie you," she said. "I cannot trust you."

_That accent._ How did he know that voice? He had heard it once, somewhere, over and over.

"I know you," he realized. "I've heard that voice before, but you were speaking… French?"

When she didn't respond he pressed on, determined to bring her out into the light so he could see her – see the face of the woman that had been trapped on the island for sixteen years.

"What's your name?" Charlie asked. "I've told you mine it's only right."

At that she came closer, and Charlie saw her. She was thin and tan, hair a wild brown mane. It was impossible to tell her age but she looked weathered and worn. There was something in the way she looked at him; she appeared more than slightly mad, like she wasn't really seeing him but was imagining someone else. _Is this how I'll look after sixteen years here,_ he thought with a shiver. At once Charlie wished she had stayed in the darkness.

"You recorded a distress call," he said to her, still panting from the shooting pains in his arm, "a transmission. We heard it. It was playing on a loop."

Just then Charlie's hand twitched and he cried out. The jerks were an involuntary residual effect of his heroin withdrawal and normally he was used to them, but they were doing him particular harm now.

"Please," he tried again, "we can talk all you want. I'll tell you anything, but can you just untie me?"

Charlie hoped that his ability to look pitiful and nonthreatening was working in his favor now. By the look of her, it appeared she could pin him to the ground in under ten seconds if she had to, without even making use of the rifle that she carried. She must have realized it too because she smiled a ghostly imprint of an expression and removed the bond on his left wrist only while leaving him tied down on his right. Charlie knew as useless as his hand was the end result was much the same, although it had the desired effect of lessening the pain.

Carefully he brought his arm down and laid his hand on his chest to see it. His hand was purple and had swollen to twice its normal size. Despite his treatment it had been wrapped in a filthy grey bandage, though not nearly tightly enough to restrict movement.

"Thanks for small favours," he said. "Now what was your name again?"

The smile returned and Charlie realized what was disquieting about it. When she smiled, she looked like a little girl.

"It's Danielle Rousseau."

"Please to meet you, Danielle," he said, looking around at the underground hovel in which she apparently lived like a mole rat. "You wouldn't happen to have any morphine by any chance would you?"

She seemed to find him amusing even though Charlie was being completely serious. He was barely three days into his "rehab" and his cravings were still ever present, simmering below the surface like a psychological tease. The pain was still distracting and his hand looked like it had been ruined for all time. If this was what a drug free existence felt like Charlie didn't want to know. He cursed his weakness but desired relief just the same.

"You are English," she observed.

"I am."

"I haven't heard that accent in many years," she said. "I attended school in London for a time."

"Well, sorry I don't speak 'London' but close enough I suppose," he said. "Why are you keeping me here?"

When she didn't respond he tried something else. "Okay, how about this one: How did _you_ end up here?"

"I was on a science vessel that ran aground when we came to investigate another transmission," she said.

"A science vessel? You weren't alone then?" he asked.

Danielle shook her head. "I was pregnant. Within weeks my entire team came down with a sickness and my baby was taken from me shortly after her birth."

"Taken by who?" he asked.

"I had hoped you could tell _me_," she said. "I have never seen them, but I hear them. They whisper."

She was sounding less coherent the more she spoke. Charlie wondered if any of this was even true. He was beginning to regret leaving his camp, if this is what years of solitude did to a person.

_Maybe she didn't tie me up here because she was afraid of me,_ he thought, _maybe it was just having finally found someone she didn't want to let me go._

* * *

The evening wore on, but regardless of the late hour most of the camp was still huddled around the fire after dinner, as if seeking comfort in the ordinary. When one of their number went missing, there was always an unease that rippled through the group that made them all feel vulnerable. Whether it was Charlie or their leader Jack mattered little, any mysterious disappearance was a reminder that the island they were stranded on wasn't safe and things wouldn't feel right again until they were reunited.

Charlie's absence stomped around in front of them like a white elephant, and it wasn't long before someone wanted to talk about it, just to break up the tension. Not all of them wanted to hear it however.

"Charlie's been gone for almost a day," noted Hurley.

"Oh, thanks for the news, sports and weather," snapped Shannon. "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Real nice, Shannon," muttered Boone.

"Well, talking about it isn't going to bring him back," she replied. "I don't particularly want to be reminded about the fact that someone goes missing every other day here."

"I'm just saying," Hurley said glumly.

"Did you guys find anything at all out there?" asked Kate.

Hurley shook his head. "No, but we didn't have that much time before it got dark. We're going out again tomorrow. But he took his bag so he must have had a plan, right?"

"Yeah, well we've seen what can happen to plans around here," said Boone. "Just saying."

Hurley looked at him accusingly. "You think Charlie's dead _too_?"

Boone sat up straighter, defensive. "No! No , I just mean that even if he left on his own something might have happened to him. Something he didn't expect."

"Well I think that much we can all agree on," said Kate. "I just hope you guys find him. I miss him around here. It feels… different somehow."

There was another thoughtful silence, and then Hurley said, "Hey Shannon. Do you remember that time Charlie caught you a fish?"

"Yeah?" said Shannon.

"He really didn't. Jin did it."

Boone started to laugh uncontrollably as Shannon rolled her eyes, "Ugh, I _knew_ it. He told me he knew how to fish."

"First he tried to get me to do it, and then we bribed Jin with some extra water," Hurley chuckled.

Pretty soon they were all laughing, even Shannon, and that lightened the mood considerably, apart from the fact that Hurley now wanted his friend back more than ever.

* * *

The pain in his wrist combined with the sleeping arrangements and sheer worry kept Charlie up most of the night. Rousseau had horded food, batteries and weapons but little in the way of medical supplies. She may not have had much to begin with, but certainly nothing remained after sixteen years.

He was still tied to the cot on one side. The swelling hadn't gone down yet, and the bruising was even more vivid. He couldn't move it at all now and Charlie worried about how it would heal if it wasn't set properly. If he could free himself and he thought he could make it he would try and find his way back to camp and his doctor friend, but Charlie had been brought here when he was unconscious and he didn't have the slightest idea where he was. He didn't have a prayer of finding his camp again even if he was sure he wanted to go back, and he wasn't very sure of anything. The idea of abandoning Danielle now seemed difficult if not impossible, and not just because he was a prisoner. She was alone like he was and despite his position and the fact that she was clearly bonkers, he was beginning to feel sorry for her.

When morning came he was still so exhausted he dozed a bit despite the pain. Shortly after, he was awoken by the surprising sound of delicate music. Danielle was sitting at her table a few feet away, smiling and admiring a musical box as it played. When he stirred she noticed him.

"I'm sorry for waking you. I listen to it every day, but I don't even know the song," she said.

"It's from a Brahms concerto," said Charlie.

Danielle looked amazed. "How do you know that?"

Charlie winced at the stiffness in his muscles and rearranged the placement of his arm. "Eight years of classical piano. But don't worry; I threw that away like I did everything else."

Danielle looked at him with a confused expression but Charlie didn't offer to elaborate.

Instead she asked, "Can you still play?"

"Sure," he said. "Hard to take a piano on a plane but I have a guitar back at the camp."

At his words Danielle's face changed. She stood abruptly and ran to a trunk that she opened and began rummaging through. From his position, Charlie couldn't see what she was doing exactly but he didn't have the energy to ask. He only hoped that whatever he said hadn't made her angry for some reason.

When she turned around, it was Charlie's turn to look shocked.

Danielle held out an exquisite antique mandolin. Highly lacquered, carved and inlaid with ivory, he had never seen anything like it. He had played mandolins before, but to play one such as this would be an honor. It was perfect. He held his breath; he hadn't felt a thrill over an instrument like that since… since his mum gave him a piano for Christmas, he realized. Danielle even smiled when she presented it to him in much the same way – as if it were a gift she hoped he'd like.

"Can you play this?" she asked.

All at once his heart sank. He felt like crying.

"Not with this wrist," he said.

She seemed disappointed as well. "Robert, my husband, used to play beautifully. I would like to teach myself but I don't even know how to tune it."

"I could tune it for you," Charlie offered, "if you help me."

She seemed to think for a bit and then she placed the mandolin on the table and slowly came forward, freeing him completely from the last of the bonds. Charlie groaned as he sat up, stiff and sore. For the rest of the morning they sat together as Danielle held the instrument and Charlie instructed her on which strings to press down on and pluck as he turned the knobs. When he was finished, she strummed an open chord and out came the loveliest sound. He was so excited that he taught her some basic chords and notes just to hear more. She was pleased with his patient tutelage and eager to show him what she had learned after a few hours of practice.

Finally she asked him, "Why did you leave your camp?"

Charlie struggled to find the words, staring down at the table. "I… did something and they all found out. I couldn't face them anymore. I'll never overcome it. Now whenever they look at me they'll only think one thing."

Danielle reached out and lifted his chin, studying him.

"You're a musician and you're kind," she said. "Stay with me."

Charlie nodded. "Is it all right being alone?"

Danielle smiled. "As you can see I am not alone."

It was almost poetic – two soloists, playing a duet.

* * *

Another half a day spent trekking and still no sign of Charlie. _But no half eaten corpse either,_ thought Hurley, with as much optimism as he could muster. His back and his legs ached, and inside he was begging for more frequent water breaks. Jack and Sayid were as accommodating as they could be but Hurley knew they didn't want to waste too much time – if the search stretched out into a third day the odds of finding Charlie alive were going to go way down. If he was injured somewhere he might not last until they found him so time was of the essence. Hurley didn't want his friends to regret bringing him along; he really wanted to be a part of the team that brought Charlie home.

Gathering up his strength and catching up to the others, Hurley could tell by the intense silence that no one wanted to be the first to admit that they really didn't know where to look. Jack and Sayid were both acting so _in charge_ that Hurley just wanted to trust them and go along with it.

Sayid was navigating, covering ground in an orderly grid. Finally, he decided, "We'll continue for one more hour in this direction and then we'll head back and cover the western side."

They looked for personal items, signs of a trail or a struggle, but all they found were trees and more dense jungle. Hurley was grateful when they stopped at a stream for a quick refill. While Sayid and Jack collected water Hurley stepped a few feet into the bushes to change his sweat soaked shirt. When he did he spotted a cloth bundle on the ground. He picked it up and recognized it.

"Hey! Guys!" he yelled, "It's Charlie's bag! I found his bag!"

Jack and Sayid were there in seconds, smiling with relief that at least they had a sign. They searched the area more thoroughly then as Jack called out for Charlie. Then Sayid nearly fell into the open pit.

"Whoah! What's that?" said Hurley, grabbing Sayid's arm and holding him back.

Sayid examined the rope and wire mechanism on the ground near the pit's mouth. "It appears to be some kind of animal trap. It's been triggered."

"Do you think Charlie fell in there?" Hurley asked, straining to look down into the dark narrow pit that was at least seven feet deep.

"If he did he's not there now," said Jack, who had pulled out a small flashlight and illuminated the bottom with it. It was completely empty.

"At least we know he was here right?" said Hurley, "That's a good sign isn't it?"

"It also means he could still be nearby," agreed Sayid. "There are fresh tracks here. We should start a new search perimeter around this site."

Encouraged, Hurley felt renewed energy as he searched. He copied Jack, calling out for his friend, but instead of Charlie calling back, they heard another sound. It was loud and monstrous and they had heard it before from the beach, but in the jungle as Jack already knew, it was positively terrifying.

"Run!" Jack cried.

* * *

Charlie and Danielle heard it too and the pounding from up above echoed down below and made the entire abode tremble. Charlie stood up quickly, knocking his chair over.

"I know that sound," he said, his heart beating rapidly as adrenaline kicked in.

Danielle rose too and grabbed her rifle. "An animal must have triggered the security system. Wait here, I'm going to investigate."

"What? Out _there_?" Charlie protested. "You can't, you'll be eaten alive!"

"I know what I am doing Charlie. The animals run scared. It is an excellent time to collect game. Stay here."

She climbed the bamboo ladder and left Charlie behind. He waited and listened. After a few moments the sounds of the monster faded and Charlie calmed a bit. He fingered the mandolin absently one handed and waited for Danielle's return. It felt odd to suddenly be alone again. He grew so tired waiting that he lay his head down on the table and fell asleep.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he awoke, but he thought he had heard Danielle talking to him. He heard a voice, or possibly even more than one, but they weren't speaking so much as whispering. Charlie sat up and listened but he could barely make out the words. He stood and searched the room but couldn't identify the source of the sound. It was disturbing and he felt cornered. Then he remembered Danielle and decided to go find her.

With effort, he scaled the ladder one handed, the pain in his left arm draining him quickly. When he reached the top he staggered, felt a wave of nausea from the fresh air and then looked for a path to take, calling Danielle's name.

"Danielle!"

"Danielle!"

"Charlie!"

He was so focused on finding her that it didn't even register with him that someone else was calling out his name. Disoriented from his pain and exhaustion, he ignored the call and kept searching for Danielle, even when the voice grew louder.

"Danielle!"

"Charlie!"

He began to panic. What if he never found her again? What if something had happened to her? She was all alone. He had to keep looking, no matter what…

"Danielle!"

Out of the bushes flew Hurley, who collided with him like a speeding train. Charlie would have been knocked completely flat if Hurley hadn't grabbed him on impact. Charlie yelled in both shock and agony as Hurley's great arms folded over his broken bones. Hurley seemed too happy to notice that Charlie was only trying to get away from him, but his strength was draining rapidly.

"Jack! Sayid! I found him!" Hurley cried over his shoulder, laughing and still holding Charlie in a bear hug.

Charlie tried to push away with his good arm, nearly in tears over the struggle.

"No!" he cried, "I have to find her!"

"Find who dude?" Hurley asked as Jack and Sayid appeared.

Charlie had nothing left. His knees turned to liquid and he sank, eyes screwed shut, still muttering, "She's alone. She shouldn't be alone."

Still holding on, Hurley eased Charlie down to the ground, his mumbling reduced to nonsense about music and a mandolin. Jack took one look at Charlie's hand and paid no attention to his words. All he knew was that they had to get him back to camp.

"But it sounds like he's looking for somebody," said Hurley.

"He's delirious Hurley," said Jack, "exhaustion and a possible infection from the injury. We have to go."

Hurley couldn't argue with that but before they left he took one last look around, hoping he'd see whoever it was that Charlie had been looking for.

* * *

Someone was pressing a cool damp towel to his forehead. Charlie opened his eyes and looked right up into the face of an angel.

"Hurley, he's awake," said Claire.

The scene didn't seem right. Last time he saw Claire she was the one prostrate from heat stroke and he was ministering to her. Then he remembered where he'd been and he looked down at his hand. It had been rewrapped in a stiff clean bandage and a splint and the swelling had gone almost completely down. It still ached but it was tolerable.

"Are you all right Charlie?" she asked him.

Was she worried about him? He nodded, still confused and took in the other concerned faces that were now congregating around him -- people he never thought would look him in the eye again. They were actually looking glad to see him.

"What were you thinking going off on your own like that?" Jack scolded lightly.

Charlie didn't know what to say. He honestly didn't think anyone would notice, but not only did they notice, they came looking for him and brought him back. His head was swimming with questions but his throat was dry and he could only produce one word.

"Why?"

"Why what dude?" asked Hurley, handing him a water bottle.

He took a few swallows and tried again. "After what you found out about me, why'd you come after me?" he asked.

Hurley nodded like he understood. "I had this uncle, used to scream at everybody all the time. One day his house burned down but my cousin took him in no problem."

Charlie just stared, waiting for an explanation for this bizarre story. To Hurley it seemed obvious.

"It doesn't matter what you did dude, you're like, part of the family," he said.

It was an odd concept but it felt nice. The thought of being part of Hurley's family almost made him laugh out loud, but he knew what Hurley had really meant. He had thought he was a solo artist here, but he had been a band member all along.

"Live together, die alone, is that it?" Charlie said, glancing sideways at Jack.

"No one should be alone," said Claire.

Charlie thought of Danielle in her dirt lair with her musical box and mandolin, and wondered if he'd ever see her again. When she returned and found him gone, Charlie hoped that she wasn't too sad. If he told them about her, would they even believe him?

"I wasn't alone," he said.


End file.
